Saying Goodbye

Mom passed away on August 16th at 8:40 AM. We were not with her, but a trusted aide was. We had been at her bedside for many vigilant hours and yet no family member was there to hold her hand as she left this world. Perhaps she willed that to be the case, or the high fever from the pneumonia dictated the end-- either way, I hate to think of her being alone.

We had a very respectful funeral filled with beautiful eulogies by three of her grandsons,
and me. We followed the traditional Shiva period, and will say Kaddish for her. But, now the real work begins. There are only a few loose ends and then what?  Everyone returns to regular life schedules but the profound sense of loss is daunting. Who else will ever love me so unconditionally, or understand my facial expressions and needs the way my lifelong friend/my mother, was able to do?  Who could ever say volumes with a twinkle of a blue eye or share an inside joke the way that she could? Who else will spend sleepless nights thinking about a solution to something that bothers me? The answer is there is no one to take her place. She was everything I needed when I was growing up and she transitioned so aptly to being a cheerleader, friend and confidant when I was grown.  Of course dementia robbed us both of the last six and a half years, but in that time I hope I was able to calm her fears and honor the devotion she always gave me with the love and care I provided. It will never feel that I did enough since she spent the better part of her life giving me her all and my meager 6 years can't compare.

I know she loved me, and I know she understood the depth of my love for her. It's just that saying goodbye is not easy. I try to take comfort in knowing that she no longer has to meet the indignities of dementia or suffer. I know that she was loved and respected by so many who knew her and I know that her lessons go on through me to the next generation. I just think I would never be ready to say goodbye and yet, I have no choice.

Mom, I will love you and miss you for all the days I have breath. Rest in peace❤️

One Day at a Time

Mom developed pneumonia a few weeks ago and as you could guess it has weakened her terribly.  She was on two IV antibiotics and IV dextrose.  She was unable to speak, had trouble breathing and deteriorated so badly that I was asked how aggressively we wish to treat her.  I signed a DNR and DI ( do not intubate).  My brother and I were asked to consider a PIC line in the hospital because she kept pulling out the IV, but we resisted that.  We hesitate to hospitalize her because she would only become more confused, would have less attention than she now gets from nurses and aides who know and like her, and she might pick up another infection. I have since requested hospice care and she qualified.  We understand that hospice doesn't mean that death is imminent, but it does mean that she has lost a lot of ground from this infection and it is likely that she will not fully recover.  We are hopeful, but realistic.  She's 91--has dementia, macular degeneration, and is deaf.  Her quality of life has been deteriorating on a regular basis and it is painful to watch her lose more and more of herself in the process.

I find myself depressed and angry.  She was always so respected for her ability to think intelligently that this indignity seems grossly unfair. It is daunting to see her so diminished. Of course at 91 the body eventually wears out. I hope she can recoup some strength, but being realistic means facing the quality of her life, and my wish is for her to not suffer. I think she was right when she said "Getting old is not for sissies."

We're Singing a New Song

Mom often sits in the hallway in front of her room these days.  She often sings.  The songs she sings are not really recognizable melodies, but rather, a combination of musical tones.  This can be comical or enraging.  When I visit, I try desperately to make conversation.  It is nearly impossible to talk to someone who is singing and making up music.  When I've asked Mom what she's singing, she just shrugs and says, " just a little ditty I just made up".  The last time I visited I decided to try something different.  I just began singing " You're a Grand Old Flag". " Yankee Doodle Dandy", " If I Were a Rich Man" and "Old Susannah".  The results were amazing.  Mom joined in and sang with me.  There were times that she didn't know the words, but then remembered them if we sang the song a second time.  It was incredible to hear her join in on old songs that she used to play on the piano and I believe it worked to reignite a few languishing brain cells, as well.  The nurses and other residents also seemed to enjoy our little "songfest" so now I think I will always bring the words to old familiar tunes with me when I visit.  It makes our time together more enjoyable and may take the place of music therapy that is not available on a regular basis.
Mom always loved music and used to sing show tunes while she did housework--I think those musical pathways are still alive, and I will do everything I can to enlist them when possible.
Dementia is not only a change in the person afflicted.  It changes the entire relationship.  So, now we make music together--not a bad way to spend an afternoon with someone you love.

Happy Birthday to me

In case anyone thinks that I am too often negative about my experiences with my mother, I feel compelled to document a really good day with her.  On June 3rd I became eligible for Medicare!
 ( Oh, my G-d... how did that happen?).  My brother and I met for lunch and then went to visit Mom.
She was so happy to see us!  She was brought to tears of joy and told us how happy she is when we are both there with her, together.  She asked each of us how we were spending the rest of the day.  I told her, first, that it was my birthday and she wanted to know how old I am.  This is what followed:
Mom:  How the hell old are you now?
Me: I'm 65
Mom: Holy Shit... how did that happen?  I must be a really old bag if you're 65!  You really don't look it at all.
                      ( Have I told you how much I really love this woman???)
Mom:  If you're 65, then how old can I be?
Me: Well, you're 90
Mom: Oh G-d!  I really am an old bag.  I guess I'm doing okay-- so many people my age either aren't here at all, or they're in really bad shape--not able to walk or feed themselves or know where they are.

Later on, she asked my brother how old he is and how he was spending the day.  He explained that he spent the time with his sister--went out for lunch and  that it was nice to spend my birthday with me.
This followed:
Mom: So how old are you?
Brother: I'm going to be 62 in October
Mom: Holy cow!  My baby is almost 62?!  Time really does have a way of going, doesn't it? I'm really an old bag aren't I?

The rest of our visit was spent with the usual repetitions of questions about our families and the weather. She was very emotional and teary when we needed to leave, but at least we managed to leave without a scene or anger.
My birthday was really a good day.  Mom was at the top of her game--funny, engaging and able to converse.  My brother and I left there feeling happy to have shared those precious moments with her, and with each other.  Those moments are fleeting as the days and years fly by, so we will hold on to them with both fists.
Thanks, for helping to make my birthday a really good day.

Mother's Day + 1 week, 2015

Why has it taken me an entire week to write?  This Mother's Day was so different and difficult that a week may still not be enough time for me.

I was full of anticipation for this Mother's Day.  I was expecting to be enchanted by our beautiful granddaughter--welcoming her into our loving family circle and looking forward to all the moments yet to be shared.  All of those hopes and dreams were dashed by her polycystic kidneys and her death at only five weeks of age. The tragedy of the recessive gene and the irony that our son analyzes genetic material and research still have me reeling.  Mother's Days spent with a new grandchild are a dream for the future, rather than the present.

So, we went with heavy hearts to celebrate Mother's Day with my mother.  We enjoyed visiting at the nursing home and read her the card/ gave her the new clothes we bought/ sang with her through the musical presentation and felt that Mother's Day was at least spent with devotion to a mother who truly deserves praise and admiration.  Then, it was time for us to go home.  That may seem simple, but it turned into a terrible scene.  Mom thought she was leaving with us.  She was adamant about her need to leave the nursing home and very rationally told us that she is all alone there and has no money.  She told me that I'm a terrible daughter if I leave her there.  So we tried to calm her down and sat with her.  She was not having any of it.  It became clear that the pleasant afternoon was not going to get better if we delayed our leaving.  It broke my heart to leave her while she was yelling at me.  Her Mother's Day was lovely, but ruined by the unfortunate fact that she must live where she does and that I cannot care for her at home.  The changes in our lives and in her mental state ruined a good day.

So, Mother's Day was filled with sadness.  Thankfully, Mom won't remember any of it.  I, however, remember more than I want to.  I will always feel the hole in my heart for our lost Marlowe. And, I will try desperately to recall the days when I made azalea corsages for my mother and that was all she   needed to have a great day.  I will remember the Mother's Days when our boys were small--presenting me with hand-made cards and the hugs that warm a mother's heart.  I will enjoy the phone calls from our grandsons and the grown-up sons who make my day on the second Sunday in May.  I will hope that the future Mother's Days replace the sour taste this one left with me.  I will hope that next year, Mom is happy with our visit and at peace with her present life.

Mom at 90

Mom turned 90 years old on December 2nd.  I think it speaks volumes that I didn't post anything on that day... or for a long while after that.  Her birthday was lovely.  Family members(who were able) and her good friend, 95 year old, Stanley attended a scaled-down party for her at the nursing home.  Mom was in good spirits and very alert that day.  She had a good time, though she was shocked to hear that she is 90, rather than the 62 she thought (When she was asked how old she thought she was, she said 62.  When we told her that I am 64, she laughed and said : "That wouldn't work").

The reason this posting speaks volumes is because along with the good-day celebration, there was such a feeling of loss.  Of course I am grateful to have a good day to share with mom.  I know that at 90 she is doing better than many.  But... I am painfully aware of all that has been lost.  The fact that she no longer really knows that my brother is not HER BROTHER, or that his son is her grandson; the loss of her memory of our father and the life they shared pains me terribly.  Mom lives in the moment.  Her joys and sorrows are not catalogued or archived.  Sometimes I believe this is a blessing.  If she remembered the death of her brother she would be diminished beyond belief--their relationship was a linchpin of her life.  The loss of my father and the pain and anger it generated is also no longer remembered.  She sometimes doesn't even remember that she was married and had children.  But... a family is only as strong as its shared memories.  The bonds that form early in our lives influence all other relationships.  So, the erasure of that history from my mother passes the torch to the next generations to keep those experiences and memories alive. Names on a page in a Family Tree have no real meaning unless someone can tell the story of those people.  This is what makes us unique... that is what family is really all about.

So, December 2nd, 2014 was a good day.  We hope to share many more birthdays with mom.  We hope that on some level we bring joy to her "new normal".  And, we promise to remember and share the family history in order to keep the events in her long life alive for the younger members who never knew her when she was so independent and bright.
Belated Happy Birthday, MOM!

Thanksgiving...but...

This is Thanksgiving weekend/2014 and I definitely have so much to be thankful for.  I have a devoted and loving husband who has shared the last 42 years of my life; we have 3 wonderful and caring sons; 2 precious daughters-in-law; 2 bright and funny grandsons, and a new grandchild on the way in April. What more can anyone want?  As always on a holiday, I am keenly aware of those loved ones who share the event, and those who are absent.  My dad has been gone for nearly 25 years but I feel the void all the time.  My uncle passed away in March and I was missing him, too, as we ate our turkey dinner.  My mother is a resident of a nursing home and unable to come to our celebrations--her absence is the one I felt the most.  She is in a peculiar "twilight zone" of life--she is alive, and yet not part of our family gatherings.  As I prepared the turkey, stuffing, yams, corn bread and apple cake I had her in my mind.  I remember her taking on the preparations for our family Thanksgivings with wonderful results.

So, I am thankful for all the blessings that give my life meaning.  I am also grateful for having a mother who fills my mind with pleasant memories; and who taught me all I needed to know for carrying on the time- honored traditions of holidays celebrated with family.  I missed you Mom, at our table, but your presence fills my heart. Thanksgiving would have less meaning if I didn't have the opportunity to stop and remember you and all I learned from your wonderful example.

Rosh Hashanah-2014

So tomorrow we mark another Jewish New Year filled with the promise of sweetness, the Book of Life and all the hopes and dreams that are part of the Days of Awe.  In the past I loved Rosh Hashanah!  The challah baking, brisket, soup with matzo balls and apple strudel were all my way of welcoming in the freshness of a new start--it was always my way of showing my loved ones that I value them above all others in my life.

This year, though, dear friends will grace our table and none of our children will be home. We just bought a new dining table and I will be keenly aware of those dear family members who are not seated--my sweet uncle who passed away in March, and my mother, who is not able to leave the nursing home for our celebrations any more. We will share the special foods and blessings that mark the holiday.  We will light candles and be especially grateful for loved ones who are not blood relatives but who are our family, nonetheless.

Each passing year brings changes to our lives--some of those are easier than others.  The Days of Awe are meant to help us assess our strengths, weaknesses and the changes we must make in ourselves to be the best version we can muster.  This year is no different, but for some reason the passage of time and the changes that have occurred this year are harder for me.  I still revel in the baking and the cooking and the enjoyment that comes from sharing a holiday with such good people, but I need to work on the hopefulness that Rosh Hashanah usually brought me. May we all be inscribed for another year in the Book of Life and may we learn acceptance of the inevitable changes that mark our lives and face those changes with grace.

Just Pay the Damn Bill!

Even though my blog is generally about Mom, it has often included the time that my uncle spent in the nursing home, which was six years.  Today's frustration is assigned to the final bit of business related to his stay in the nursing home.  I have been receiving erroneous bills from the nursing home for the last year and have tried desperately to have the Medicaid budget corrected, but to no avail.  Now, I must pay the bill for the month of March, which was the last month of my uncle's life.  I know that all I should be paying is the amount of his pension, which was being direct deposited into his checking account and that I paid in check form to the home each month. I have tried to have the business office reconcile the bill and release his personal account money but each time I speak to someone in the business office, I am told that we owe a different amount of money and that there has been an outstanding balance for over a year.

I KNOW that their accounting is terrible, since I have found several errors in the past.  I also know that the previous business manager believed that someone was playing with the numbers to the nursing home's advantage ( hence she no longer works there!).  I know, too  that I must show a final payment of his debts to the court, since I am administrator of his estate and that no remaining balance can appear before I distribute the rest of his funds.  All of this ends in an impasse with the billing office.  They cannot/will not finalize the account and release his personal funds, and every time I call I either leave a voice mail, or I am told that they are still looking at the account.  I have lost my patience! Today I took my case to the Assistant Administrator who promised to look into the account and give me and answer within the next 10 days.  I truly don't believe that will happen.

Frank was difficult and demanding.  I am so ready to remember his good qualities and allow the less attractive things fade, but I cannot do that while I am still in the middle of aggravation that may lead to letters from collection agencies or lawyers, or questions from the court on the discrepancy between the amount I paid and the actual amount due according to the nursing home records.

Someone would say why don't you just pay the damn bill.  There is no money to meet their billed amount, and even if there were, I would refuse to allow them to  extort the money from us because of their own careless accounting. I will keep this going--but sometimes you just get tired.  I am so tired of the fight. So hoping to move on to the next chapter and yet I am not allowed to do it--at least not yet.

It Was Bound to Happen

Yesterday, Larry and I went to visit Mom.  I was feeling that I especially missed her because it had been 2 weeks since my last visit.  When we got there, she was sleeping in the dining room and it was very hard to wake her.  She said hello and went right back to her naps.  I spoke to the nurse to alert her to the possibility that there is a UTI brewing ( since that's been the M.O. for a long while when Mom is soooo sleepy).  Mom woke to eat her lunch and seemed a little more "with it".  She spoke very little but ate slowly.  Larry showed her a picture of Asher's toothless smile and we tried to explain her connection to him.  She didn't remember Asher, or Dan, or who I am in relation to her. I told her my name, and reminded her that I'm her daughter, but to no avail.  She just shrugged and I could see the vacancy that appears more and more on her face.

It was bound to happen, but it didn't hurt any less!  The process of me losing my mother is slow and painful and this is yet another milestone in that separation.

Sadness

Last week, my Uncle Frank died at the age of 91...only 3 days past his birthday.  I am so grateful that we were able to see him enjoy that day of balloons, and his favorite strawberry shortcake.  He seemed truly happy and at peace.  As I wrote his eulogy I reflected on his life and I believe that he really had a good one.  He enjoyed his job, married someone he loved and remained devoted to, and grew to be self-confident in his later years.

To sum up a life of 91 years is daunting.  How do you add up the accomplishments, joys, pains and disappointments?  How do you really do justice to what a person means to their family?  Seeing his remaining possessions in plastic bags really hit home.  We are all not meant to be on this earth forever.  We are flowers that fade and eventually we become dust.  Sure, that's depressing, but it's real.  It is, however, in the smile that crosses a loved one"s face at the mention of our name that endures.  If our name becomes a blessing, then our time here on earth had meaning beyond the years we were here.  So, Uncle Frank, your name will become a blessing.... Rest in Peace my dear Uncle.

New Year...Same Old, Same Old

With the dawn of a new year we always have hopes that things will change.  We are always aware that they can change for the better or worse, but change is our dream.  Not so with my Mom's nursing home. We visited Mom the other day. We were greeted by the news that her hearing aid is lost (AGAIN!).  The aides and nurses claim that she had them as of 8:30 AM, but one was missing by 10:30 AM.  Do I believe it?  Not sure.  Yes, Mom does take them out occasionally, but the "fishy" part is their claim that she had them so early in the morning.  Most of the time that I visit she is just being given her hearing aids at 11:30 AM.  So, what to believe????

I am so sick of thinking about and searching for, hearing aids!  Mom does wear them, and is very aware of their usefulness.  Good thing I kept the old ones that were lost, then found.  See... hearing aids ad nauseum.  We will try the recommended clips to prevent this happening any other times, but I have little faith.

The New Year seemingly is promising to be too much like the old one.

Thanksgivingkah

It is strange to have both Thanksgiving and Chanukah occurring at the same time.  In fact, this won't happen again for 77,000 years.  Stranger still, is the feeling I get when we celebrate a holiday.  I am happy to spend the time with our children and sometimes with our grandchildren, too.  But I always mourn the loss of the valued older generation who are alive and yet unable to join us.  The celebration is tainted by my knowledge that they are part of an institution's definition of a holiday rather than being surrounded by loved ones and long-held traditions. I wish it could be different.  I wish for just one more time to have those older people revel in the family that they helped to create and bask in the glow of respect and love.  I wish...

Dental Dilemma Part II

My brother and I decided to go forward with the dental surgery (with fingers crossed).  Mom was accompanied to the surgeon's office by a very caring and genteel aide from the nursing home who was able to keep Mom calm and in good spirits even though she hadn't eaten breakfast.  My brother and I met them at the dental clinic and finally met with the dental team.  After much conversation and deliberation we decided to only extract the six broken teeth and leave Mom without a set of dentures.
Mom was compliant--she sat dutifully for X-rays and marveled at all the "fancy" equipment--she was a perfect patient!  She went back to the nursing home and was in relatively better spirits than I would ever be after six extractions. According to the nursing home nurses she is managing to eat, albeit a little less than usual, and not complaining about pain (remarkable!)
 
So now, here is where my shallowness comes to the surface.  We made a good medical decision with the dentists who said that she has no active infections and may be fine for many years with just her remaining teeth.  BUT, I can't handle seeing her without teeth!  She looks broken, or like a homeless person and I am waking in the night pondering this.  Ideally I would like her to have been fitted for dentures.  Ideally she would be able to adjust to them and actually wear them.  Ideally she would look more like the Mother that I've known for 63 years.  I see the broken teeth as a symbol of the other changes in her that are not visible.  I see the ravages of time and our inability to rewrite the script.
I see the dental dilemma as yet another battle lost.  Did we do right by our mother?  I hope so.  Of course we can always have the rest of her teeth extracted and try dentures at some point.  But for now I need to stop being shallow. Stop feeling self-conscious or guilty about her missing teeth.  I need to focus on the reasons for the decision and learn to live with it.

The Dental Dilemma

Mom has always hated going to the dentist and in her later years she really neglected her teeth.  She used to have a partial dental plate that filled in the gaps, but she recently lost several of her teeth that were holding the plate in place and now the plate was lost at the nursing home.  She presently looks awful! She really looks like someone who has nobody to care for her and it breaks my heart.  I arranged for a dentist to see her at the nursing home and was told that she needs to see an oral surgeon at the hospital. Eventually, after the extractions, new dentures would be fitted. I tried to explain all of this to mom last week when I visited during lunch time.

So today, I received a phone call from the nursing home's social worker who asked me to calm mom down and try to convince her to go with the aide for the dental appointment.  I was met by a lot of yelling and accusations about my lack of compassion, as well as, my inability to remember that mom had just visited the dentist herself.  Of course, she mentioned the dentist we used to see, who has been dead for the last 30 years! She then asked me to just leave her alone and not bother her with extra nonsense--she's fine; eating okay; and just doesn't want to go. I was able to convince her to go to the dentist and we would discuss the next step.  Luckily, she went.

Now the dilemma comes up.  She will need all of the rest of her teeth removed and will be without teeth for several weeks until the dentures can be fitted.  If she doesn't have the extractions, she may be able to eat for quite awhile, but some day she may have an infection in one of the remaining teeth and then would need emergency dental surgery and high doses of antibiotics.  Even if she gets the dentures she may not be able to adjust to them, and may not be able to ever eat solid food again.  So, what to do?
My brother ponders leaving her alone, worried about the end result of the extractions.  I worry about the possible infections.  There is no easy answer, but I'm leaning on the surgery.  Is it because I am vain for her?  Is it because I hate having her look so broken?  I really can't answer that today.  I only know that making the least lousy choice is really hard to do.

5774

Tonight marks the beginning of a New Year on the Jewish calendar.  Tables will be set with fine china, the good silver and lovely tablecloths as families join to wish each other L'Shanah Tovah.

I will remember my grandfather wishing all of us a Gut Yomtov as my mother hurriedly prepared the matzoh balls, chicken and kugel that was usually part of our holiday. I remember waiting for my father to call about the store's closing so we could all finally eat the meal.  It brings me joy to remember her busy in her kitchen--capable, loving and anxious to please the family with her cooking--it is from her that I learned to enjoy the creative process of putting food on the table for a family. And by extension, I think I was able to bring that into our home, so now our sons are eager to prepare meals for friends and family.  They share that same joy of kitchen creation that their grandmother had.

The passage of time has changed that landscape.  Mom hasn't cooked a meal for the family in many, many years.  She was an honored guest at our holiday celebrations for many years and often brought one of her specialty items (usually the potato kugel) to our house.  But in my mind's eye, Mom is shopping, dicing, cooking and stirring happily--these are the images that give me the most pleasure.
It is the way I will always wish to think of her, rather than the way she is in the present.  I wish all who meet her now could have known her before.  I suppose it doesn't much matter--I remember and I will preserve that image forever.

Exhausted

I saw my mom and uncle yesterday.  Nothing has changed in either of them which is a blessing.  Yet, I am totally exhausted.  I'm not wishing for any change because that could spell a major decline in either ones health, but I wish someone else could shoulder being the person in charge once in awhile.

My uncle says that the tedious routine each day is just mind-boggling.  I see it the same way, but from my perspective.  I have been visiting him in the nursing home for over 5 years and we virtually repeat the same routine each time I go. Only now, it includes the rituals that have developed since my mother is now a resident.  I am easily bored and although I try desperately to alter the conversation or minutiae, we basically follow a script for each visit.  The only thing that changes is their ability to respond to me.

I am just exhausted!  The trip to the Bronx, the parking, the actual visit, the heavy feeling in my heart when I leave them ( because of the sadness on their faces when I say I must go home), the feeling that I'm just not doing enough, and the trip home including the lane closures on the bridge are all wearing away at my stamina.  I don't blame them.  I visit because I want to.  I visit out of love and devotion and the desire to provide some remembrance of the life they both had before the nursing home.  I visit because I generally feel better after doing the mitzvah.  But I am exhausted.

How Many More?

I went to visit mom and uncle a couple of days ago.  I found mom eating her lunch but struggling to chew.  She didn't explain, but I finally found out that her dental bridge is missing ( it probably got lonely for all the hearing aids).  She also has several broken teeth, so of course she's having trouble eating.  She didn't remember what happened to the dental bridge, and the nurse was absolutely NO HELP!  She told me that she asked mom about her teeth--did she have any pain, etc., and was told to leave her alone. So, that's as far as she went with that.  She didn't call us, didn't schedule a dental visit, or even think much of the entire thing. So much for involved and caring personnel.

I now asked that a dentist see her and plan to fix the teeth that can be saved and make new dental bridges and/or dentures.  I would like to be at the home the day the dentist gets there, but I'm pretty sure nobody will tell me when that will be.

The appearance of my mother with broken teeth and missing dentures just broke my heart.  She looks like a homeless person who has no one to care for her.  She looks BROKEN. I know it's only teeth, and she always hated going to the dentist and avoided it whenever possible, but it fits in with the question I keep asking.  How many more indignities will need to be suffered?  How many more times will the essence of who my mother always was be eroded away by the combined assault of dementia and the impersonal element of institutional living?  In themselves the teeth are a small piece of the changes mom has endured and we have been forced to witness, but it's a visible sign of all the hidden tangles that now mark my mother's life.

Her teeth may be replaced artificially, but the hole in my heart will stay forever.

The Great Hearing Aid Mystery

About two months ago my mother's hearing aids were "lost." After she diligently handed them to the nurse in the evening, they mysteriously disappeared.  We scheduled an appointment with the audiologist and new hearing aids were made--covered by rather expensive insurance.  The nursing home's director promised to repay the $360 for the insurance and I brought the new aids up to Mom.  When I asked for the old case back, lo and behold, there were her old hearing aids!  A great bruhaha developed as I made it clear that I was not pleased with the handling of valuables by the staff.

Three weeks ago, my uncle's right hearing aid disappeared.  It had also been given to the nurse for safekeeping overnight, and somehow left the building on its own! Once again I spoke to the nurses, aids and finally, the director, who promised to repay the insurance money (that still hasn't been paid for Mom), and  the replacement cost of my uncle's lost aid. The nursing home scheduled an appointment with the audiologist.  Then, my uncle was hospitalized.  When he returned to the home, I received a call from the audiologist requesting payment for the hearing aid that would be ordered.  Long story shorter, now the nursing home director is backpedaling and told the audiologist that he has a fiduciary responsibility to not spend the $2000 replacement fee for the hearing aid.  So, this is where we are now.  My uncle still has not received his hearing aid; I refuse to lay out the money because I know that the nursing home will never repay us; Mom's insurance money has not been reimbursed; and I am losing my mind. (or what is left of it!)

Why should keeping hearing aids safe overnight be such a challenge?  Why won't the nursing home take responsibility for their shortcomings?  Why should old people be robbed of one important sense due to shoddy practices? Why am I spending too many of my waking hours chasing after hearing aids and the money needed to replace them?  Why?  My mother used to answer such questions thus:
"Because "y" is a crooked letter".  That never made sense to me before, and it doesn't now.

Can I Keep My Sense of Humor?

I had a conversation with a friend this morning about maintaining a sense of humor on the days that I visit the nursing home.  She also had a parent who lived in a nursing home and understands the tedium, anxiety and sadness that comes from the nursing home environment.  BUT, her mother didn't have dementia and died at 99 years old!

Today was one of the days that I needed to see the humor, but it escaped me.  My uncle was upset because his nightly routine was disrupted last night. He was concerned because he wanted to get an important set of paperwork signed.  Mom was upset because she was very tired and wanted to sleep.  Instead, I tried to keep her awake in order to guarantee a good night's sleep tonight (if she sleeps during the day, she is up until the wee hours of the morning). I also added the suggestion of a hair salon appointment that was definitely needed. I sat in the dining room listening to the litany of complaints and finally tried to convince Mom to get the haircut.  That's when she literally dragged her feet and prevented me from pushing the wheelchair!  It was classic 2 year old temper tantrum material that was accompanied by loud protests and barbs at my devotion as a daughter. Add my uncle's shouts of "mama" to the chorus and I should have been laughing--it didn't happen! I should have remembered my daughter-in-law's smile when she reminded me that I could be doing this for another 18 years! (This is an inside joke, but it does lighten the mood somehow).

I am really working on the humor thing--can I see their behavior as a valiant effort to maintain some control over their lives?  Can I also see that I am the only one who tends to their needs so I'm the one who hears all the complaints?  Can I stop seeing myself in their position long enough to also just laugh at the insanity that permeates the institutional existence?  I need to really laugh, because otherwise I just need a good cry sometimes.